


Memento

by nekonexus



Category: Ginyuu Mokushiroku Meine Liebe | Meine Liebe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-27
Updated: 2010-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekonexus/pseuds/nekonexus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed receives a letter from overseas. Sometimes, hope is not the kindness it should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memento

Smiling to himself, for no reason other than that the sun was shining, the wind was blowing, and he'd just returned from an afternoon spent roaming the countryside, Ed kicked his feet free of the stirrups and slid down off his horse's back. It was a bright autumn day, without the crisp bite of a coming winter, but with the sudden clarity in the air that made all the colours sharper in their last moments. Walking beside his tired horse, reins held loosely in one hand, Ed closed his eyes and breathed deeply, ignoring the looming presence of his father's house in the background. Ahead of him were the stables, the buildings long and low and cozy with the smell of hay and horses. He could return to the world of duty and propriety if he did it by degrees, but the thought of entering the house at the moment still made him want to bare his teeth in a defiant grimace.

Someone called his name, his full name, and it shuddered over him like a bucket of cold water. Tightening his grip on the reins, he stopped and forced himself to turn toward the voice.

"Master Eduard!" someone said again, and he ground his teeth together.

"What is it?" he forced himself to ask civilly, as his father's butler finally drew near enough to speak without raising his voice.

"The post arrived, young master, and there is a letter for you --"

Tossing his head back, Ed started to turn away. It wouldn't be a letter from Orphe, as one had arrived yesterday, and even if it were, he had already made arrangements with the staff that such letters were to be set aside for him, out of his step-mother's reach. "Then leave it with the rest," he said, resentment at the intrusion overriding his curiosity. "It can't be that important."

"Young master," the butler said again, his tone more hesitant than deferential this time. Glancing back, Ed saw the large, battered envelope in his outstretched hand. "I believe it... might be from your sister."

Draping the reins over his shoulder, he accepted the envelope with both hands. Something cold settled over him, making his chest ache for a moment. With a nod that was all the thanks he could muster, he turned away and resumed his progress toward the stables. There was no return address, which was the first thing he looked for, of course. The postmark and stamps were so badly smudged and water-damaged that there was no hope of making them out. Whether it was intentional or not, he couldn't quite tell, but he was not being given the opportunity to guess her whereabouts.

If it was from her....

There was something in the envelope besides paper, he realized, tilting it back and forth and turning it over. It hurt to realize he was afraid to open it, afraid it was some last memento, a notification of his sister's death. Would it be easier to know, one way or the other, rather than live on in perpetual futile hope? He couldn't decide, and so he turned the envelope over again, searching for clues in the weather-beaten paper.

A groom met him at the door to the stables and grasped the horse's bridle wordlessly. Normally he would see to the stabling himself, lingering over the comforting familiarity of the task. He barely even noticed when the reins trailed down over his arm, but he pushed them hastily aside when they bumped into the envelope. Tightening his grip on it, he walked to the far end of the building and climbed the short ladder into the hay-filled loft. Tucking himself out of sight between bales near the back of the loft, he stared blankly at the envelope. His fingers ran restlessly over the creases and cracks, as if he could trace its journey through the damage left behind.

Finally, he pulled out his pocket knife and carefully sliced open the flap on one end. Putting away the knife, he held the envelope gingerly, open end raised. Hesitating didn't change anything, though. The contents were what they were, regardless of how long it took him to face them. Tilting the envelope, he let the contents spill out onto his right hand.

The necklace fell out first, landing solidly on his palm, black silk cord spilling down between his fingers. A smaller, cleaner envelope followed and he caught it between thumb and forefinger while curling his hand around the weight of the necklace. Setting the now-empty larger envelope aside, he took the smaller one in his left hand and studied the necklace in his right.

It was a simple ivory rectangle, carved with faded, worn markings that might once have matched the design on his bracelet. A single hole pierced the rectangle cleanly, the edges smooth so as not to catch the silk of the cord it was strung upon. He knew, without having to think about it, without even a hint of memory, that it had been their mother's.

Turning his attention to the envelope, he cracked the plain red seal with his thumbnail and carefully extracted the folded sheet within. There was a third, even smaller envelope tucked inside, and he set it aside without quite daring to look at it. The single sheet of parchment was heavy and stiff, containing only a short note written by an unfamiliar hand. The lines were dark and heavy, and he studied the strokes of the pen for some moments before reminding himself that the strokes formed words, and it was the words that held meaning.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on the words.

 

_Eduard,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. _

_It was your sister's wish that this be sent to you and I must trust that it will reach you somehow, despite the many distances and difficulties that lie between._

_Although I have been sworn to secrecy by your father, I trust he will forgive this seeming indiscretion, given the gravity of the situation I must communicate. _

_Your sister has fallen ill with the scarlet fever, and the doctor is not at all certain of her chances of survival. It is my fear that, by the time this missive reaches you, she may have succumbed to the illness. If such is the case, I will attempt to notify your father, but such communications remain difficult, if not dangerous. _

_Please understand that we have done all we can for her, and will continue to do so, but the situation is grave. In case the worst should happen, she wished you to have at least this one letter, and a token to remember her by. _

_With All Sympathy and Sincerity,_

_Your Sister's Foster-father. _

 

His vision was blurry, which didn't make any sense to Ed until he rubbed at his eyes and discovered he was crying. Tossing aside the parchment, he wrapped both hands around the necklace and held it tight against his chest. Pulling his knees up, he rested his forehead against them.

If he made himself small enough, perhaps the world would pass him by and the feeling of everything shattering around him would stop. It was hard to breathe, but he needed to scream, except he couldn't get enough air, and there were the horses below. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself by upsetting them.

He shouldn't cry anyway. It wasn't as if he knew she was dead. She might have recovered. He could still find her someday, he had to, he'd promised. But everything hurt so much and there was no way to make it right, no way to even _know_.... He mustn't cry. He must be strong; strong enough to find her, to protect her... someday.

It took him longer than it should have to catch his breath, but he finally managed to push away the hurt and helpless frustration. He'd deal with it later, somehow, maybe tell Orphe, because Orphe would understand... except he couldn't, because the last thing he wanted to do was remind Orphe of Robertine. So no, he'd have to be a man, and deal with this pain alone. He was sixteen now, after all. He had no reason to be reacting like the child he'd been when they sent her away.

There was still another letter waiting for him.

Unclenching his fists, he unknotted the cord on the necklace and retied it around his neck. The ivory bumped against his collar-bones, its weight somehow comforting. Picking up the last envelope, he studied the wax seal for a moment. It looked like she'd used one side of the necklace to make a far larger seal than was strictly necessary for such a small envelope. He pried it up carefully, trying to keep it intact. The sheets inside were thin, folded precisely in half, and then again into thirds. He unfolded them slowly, smoothing the creases gently before finally turning his attention to the words.

 

_Dearest Brother,_

_I had hoped to send this in time for your sixteenth birthday, but I think it will arrive late. Has it been so many years already? Time passes so slowly, it seems, and yet, where have all the years gone? _

_Are you going away to school next year? I cannot imagine you do anything less than the best in everything you do, and so it seems you must be planning to attend Rosenstolz. Is it so? I know you cannot answer, but I hope...._

_How different life has become for us. There are so many things I wish I could tell you, so many things I wish I could say, but I am still bound by our father's will. Was I really in so much danger that we must be kept so distant, in such secrecy? I still cannot believe it. _

_It is true that I scarcely remember the day we parted, that I scarcely remember you. I think it was their intent that I should forget, and live a new life here entirely free of the past. But how could I forget my older brother? I will cling to the memories always, trusting that you do the same. _

_The gift you must have found... I hope you will be allowed to find... I am sending you this necklace that I am told was our mother's, that you might have something by which to remember her, and me. And on the day when we finally meet, I shall have this to know you by. _

_If we meet..._

_Be well, dear brother, and know that you are in my thoughts always. _

_With love,  
Your Sister_

 

The tears came then, and he didn't have the strength or will to fight them. Curling up on his side in the hay, he tried to muffle the cries that insisted on escaping him. He had nothing to hold on to, nothing to anchor him, and so he lost himself in the storm of emotion he'd held inside for so many years. Time passed, and he was vaguely aware of it, but he had neither the strength nor the will to drag himself from his hiding place and face the world that kept shattering around him. Eventually he fell into an uneasy sleep, too exhausted from fighting himself to hold that off as well.

~*~*~

His father found him there, some hours later, after he'd failed to return in time for supper. The butler had quietly confessed to delivering the letter, though even he was surprised at Eduard's absence from the table. It was not hard to guess where Ed would be, although the grooms were surprised to realize that he had not left the stable much earlier. The loft was the only logical place, and so he climbed the ladder almost as nimbly as Ed had.

The letters were strewn around Ed, and he fingered the thick parchment for a long moment before finally reading it. The smaller letter he left untouched. Staring down at his son, he could not help but see not the young man he was, but the child he had been. Perhaps he had made the wrong choice, years ago, but there had been pride and honour, and the family name at stake. He'd made the best compromise he could, or so he must believe.

"Why?" Ed whispered, surprising him. He'd been so lost in thought he had not noticed Ed stirring. "Why did you send her away and keep me?"

He had no answer for the raw pain in those green eyes. So much like his mother.... Shaking his head, he crouched down on one knee. "I did what I thought best. What I had to do -- my duty to my family. Sometimes we must make sacrifices."

It was the wrong thing to say, he realized, moments too late. Eduard's eyes flickered closed and, when they opened again, they seemed dark and opaque. The pain was gone, pushed away, and his heart ached in sympathy.

"Ed--" he began, but his son was already sitting up, brushing off stray whisps of hay and collecting the disheveled mail from around himself. Ed refused to meet his gaze until he realized he was holding the letter.

"That is mine," Ed said softly.

He handed over the letter wordlessly and watched Ed fold it and carefully return it to its envelope. And he decided then, if the other letter ever came, he would not tell Eduard.

It was better to allow him hope, however slender a ray.


End file.
